reproze

 Not the familiar kind, however. There was neither blade nor bow. Bones unbroken, blood unspilled. No, their war was of the psychological kind. They came at night, chittering in the walls and baseboards. They ruined my sleep first. In the beginning, I didn't notice. I lost five minutes here, ten minutes there. Over time, sleep all but evaded me, until I counted myself lucky to rest for even a few minutes a day. They don't talk about it much, the dangers of wakefulness. It's a poison like any other. Overdose and risk permanent harm, if not outright death. But without wakefulness, the Aura won't flow, the Machinists won't get their fill. And my enemies won't exact their satisfaction. It was my physical strength with which they knew they couldn't contend, nor my mental acuity. They're the ones that made me, that created the perfect specimen. For years, their system worked. The Aura flowed, our lords pleased with the progress. It all changed after Toff asked a question that halted the machinery altogether. Why? The Pullers stopped their work first. Then the Molders and the Vendors. Bit by bit, the work stopped. Dangerous thoughts, those. They looked to me to be their champion. And why not? I was created to be better. My makers never sought to place mechanisms of control over me. Their system was too perfect; engendered too much loyalty. But when I listened to Toff and her followers, the Machinists reacted. The Overseer brought me in. Just for a little chat, he said. Why I believed a man in a suit is beyond me. There's always a card up the sleeve, a dagger in a boot. Another clause written in very small print. The vitamin cocktail they gave me was anything but. That was when the problems started. The infinite spiders crawling over grey matter never ended. Without rest, my body and brain were rendered incapable. I was a toothless warrior, a failed champion. An aegis cracked and useless. The raids started soon after. They made an example of all the most outspoken of advocates, but none had it worse than Toff. Would that these pages be found by another in a distant, better future, I'll spare the details. I only know that in my long life, I've never seen a body treated like that. I considered the creativity that must have gone into such cruelty. To use one of the great human gifts for such torture...I wept over all that we were capable. Boots on gravel. Doors locked. And me, hiding weakly in a remote alleyway, simply waiting. For what, I don't know. Salvation? A quick and merciful end? The bugs feast and mate in my mind. Nothing feels real anymore. All that remains is a single fact. I would have lived in peace. But my enemies brought me war.